


What you have is better than paradise...

by SorryFreudianSlip



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, Hannibal is a terrible person, M/M, SO, but he really loves his kid, but things arent that different, but you know, descriptions of panic attacks, eventual hannigram, hannibal has a kid, i mean hes still a cannibal, implied cannibalism/assholery, not right off the bat, transgender character, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 10:34:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5372168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SorryFreudianSlip/pseuds/SorryFreudianSlip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What will we have for dinner, dearest?”<br/>Hannibal had a steel in his right hand and a knife in his left. The knife had no need for extra honing, but his daughter liked the sound. She was sitting on the counter, pursing her lips as she thought.<br/>“Chicken Veronique?”<br/>“Excellent.”<br/>She nodded, swinging her feet in time with his strokes. He smiled.<br/>“And what is in Chicken Veronique?” Hannibal prompted, setting the steel aside.<br/>“Veronique!”<br/>“That's correct.” She smiled, sucking her bottom lip under her teeth. “But what else?”<br/>“Shallots and grape?”<br/>“Shallots and grapes. Let’s begin.”</p><p>Hannibal has a child.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Saulé, as a child.

   “What will we have for dinner, dearest?”

   Hannibal had a steel in his right hand and a knife in his left. The knife had no need for extra honing, but his daughter liked the sound. She was sitting on the counter, pursing her lips as she thought.

   “Chicken Veronique?”

   “Excellent.”

   She nodded, swinging her feet in time with his strokes. He smiled.

   “And what is in Chicken Veronique?” Hannibal prompted, setting the steel aside.

   “Veronique!”

   “That's correct.” She smiled, sucking her bottom lip under her teeth. “But what else?”

   “Shallots and grape?”

   “Shallots and grapes. Let’s begin.”

*

   “And how is Saulé today?” Dr. Bloom asked, giving her a small smile. She looked up from her drawings, then looked to her father. She shrugged, bunching her shoulders up beside her face.

   “Be polite, dearest.”

   She hesitated, looking at Dr. Bloom as though she was a bug in her father’s herb garden. She spoke in rapid Lithuanian to her father. Hannibal smiled.

   “Saulé wishes to inform you that she has made progress in her drawings and reading. She likes the perfume you are wearing.”    

   “That is not what I informed.” Saulé pouted.

   “Then what did you say?”

   Saulé’s eyes widened. She pointed at her father with a pencil.

   “You tricked me!”

   “Clever girl.” Dr. Bloom laughed.

   “I think that I would like a...cactus for my room and new paint and cucumber salad for dinner.” Saulé said. She put her tools down into her lap and spoke as quick as she could. “And I also think that the perfume is a fruit perfume.”    

   “Plum pudding. Guilty as charged.”

   “Also, I am done speaking and also informing.”

   “Alright. It was nice talking to you, Saulé.”

   She nodded, and started a new drawing. It was of a clear bowl filled with fish, candles, and cherries.

* 

   “Hannibal?”

   “Yes, dearest?”

   “Will I learn that?”

   Saulé pointed to the knife.

   “I may teach you when you are older.”

   “When is older?”

   “When your hands are strong enough to play the piano.”

   Saulé huffed, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. “It’s not the same.”

   “I disagree.” Hannibal ran hot water over the knife, and dried it on his apron. “Cooking and piano are both forms of art. Creation.”    

   “Like my drawing?”

   “Like your drawing.”

   “You were an artist.”

   Hannibal raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter to regard her. “I’d like to think I still am.”

   “Now you are a doctor for the brain. It’s-”

   “A psychiatrist?”

   “It is rude to interrupt.”    

   “That’s true. Forgive me.”    

   “You are forgived. Doctors don’t do art.”

   He frowned at her phrasing. “Why is that?”

   “You fix things. It’s different than making things. When is older?”

   “When will we have our next piano lesson?”

   “Hannibal.” She crossed her arms. “It’s different.”

   “How so?”

   “I do not much care for the piano.”

   “But you care much for the knife?”

   “I might. I have not tried it.”

   “I have not let you.” Hannibal turned back to his ingredients. Saulé slid off the counter and over by his side. “It might hurt you.” He handed the knife to her.

   “The piano hurts me too.”

   Hannibal smiled, taking her hand in his. “You rock into the blade…” Together, they cut into the butter.

*

   “Oh, what a little deary!”

   Saulé froze, and stuck out her tongue. She clutched her sketchpad and charcoal like a shield.

   “A little young for the opera, no?”

   “I like the singing.” Saulé mustered up her biggest smile. “It makes me draw better. You’re also a little young for the opera. Everyone here is old.”

   The couple laughed. It felt a little patronizing. Saulé hopped out of the chair and stuck out a charcoal smudged hand.

   “My name is Saulé Lecter.”

   “Oh, you’re Hannibal’s little one?”

   “Oh, he looks just like him. He has a little suit. Did you pick out your little suit?”

   “Yes, I did. I picked it out because it, uhm,” Saulé froze. She couldn’t remember what she was going to say.

   “Uhm. Because…”

   There were a lot of people in the room. They were all tall and laughing a lot. They were wearing a lot of jewelry and cufflinks which made things sparkle and shine too much.

   “Because?” The woman prompted. Her partner looked worried, throwing glances to the ballroom.

   “I forgot. I think I forgot because I am distracted. Do you know where Hannibal is?”

   “I think he’s right around-”

   “I would like to find him. I’m sorry to interrupt you. That was not polite of me.”

   “That’s alright. I have pomegranate water. Would you like to sit down with me and drink some?”

   “Yes please.”    

   “Go find Dr. Lecter.” She whispered to her partner. She sat beside Saulé.

   “May I see what you are drawing?”

   “No.”

   “Okay. Did your father teach you to draw?”

   “Yes, but I didn’t like how he taught.”

   “You taught yourself? That’s impressive.”

   “Thank you.” Saulé took a sip of water. Both of her hands were full. “Where should I put this drink? I’m finished with it.”

   “I’ll take it, if that’s okay. Are you feeling alright?”

   “Yes. Are you a doctor?”

   “No.”

   “No, I am not feeling alright. I forgot what to say.”

   “I do that a lot, too.”

   “Saulé? Dearest,” Hannibal strode over, handing his champagne to a waiter. The woman’s partner was trailing behind him, having trouble keeping up in her heels. “How are you?”

   “When are we going home?”

   “Now, if you would like.”

   “I would like.”

   “Thank you for watching my Saulé.”

   “I just love his suit. I had to talk to him.” She stood, shaking Hannibal’s hand.

   “Yes, my daughter has impeccable taste. A little like her father, I hope.”

   “Your daughter. Oh.” The woman blushed. “Well, it’s a lovely color.”

   “That’s why I picked it. It’s red.” Saulé looked up at her father. “Like…”

   “Christmas flowers. You’re favorite. Do you remember their name?”

   “Poinsettia. I remember now.”

*

   “Do you like the lady with the cherries?”    

   “I beg your pardon?” Hannibal put down his book. He read before bedtime while she drew. He'd read out loud if she asked him to.

   “I drew cherries when I met her. She smelled like fruit. She is a doctor, like you.”

   “Dr. Bloom.”

   “Dr. Bloom. Do you like her?”

   “I do. She’s a kind woman. Do you like her?”

   “Maybe. But that’s not what I mean.” Saulé smiled, teasing. “Do you _like_ like her?”

   “Why do you ask?”

   “Because everyone else is in a couple except you and…”

   “Doctor Bloom?”

   “Doctor Bloom.”

   “Do you think everyone has to be in a couple?”

   “I don’t know.” Saulé stopped smiling, looking down at her sketch book. “I drew a picture of everything I could think of in this house. Everything important. It was me and you in the kitchen.”

   “How did you feel?”

   “I felt…” Saulé huffed. “Sorry. I'm not sure.”

   “Take your time. It’s good that you think before you speak.”

   “It’s not to be polite. It’s because I can’t find the word.”

   “Still, a good habit to have. Some people don’t think before they speak and their speech suffers for it.”

   “Do you ever do that?”

   “I try not to.”

   “So, yes?”    

   “Yes. Sometimes. Do you have your word?”

   “For the picture. Right. I don’t, but I think I can describe it.”

   “Describe it.”    

   “I felt like the picture looked...fine. I wasn’t happy with it but I wasn’t sad with it. But I thought there should be more people than things. It was fine, but missing something. Does that make sense?”

   “I think so. It’s like when a sweet chocolate has no salt. Fine, but lacking.”

   “Exactly. But I am not missing anything, so I thought it must be you. Then I thought about when you are happy, and it’s with other people. With the opera and lots of people. So I thought maybe being in a couple would do that. Like in the story we saw with the flowers and the couples.”

   “A Midsummer’s Nights Dream. Did you like that play?”

   “No. I thought the people were stupid.”

   “Why did you think that?”

   “Because they were tricked.”

   “I trick you sometimes. Does that make you stupid?”    

   “I don’t know. Maybe. Or maybe it just means you’re bad.”

   Hannibal chuckled. “The one who tricked them wasn’t in love with anybody. Is that where the resemblance lies? Did Puck trick them because he was jealous?”

   “I don’t think so. I think he was having fun. He’s my favorite.”

   “I like him as well.”

   “You were happy there too, with lots of people.”

   “Why do you say that?”

   “Because you smiled.”

   Hannibal nodded, taking her sketchpad and putting a bookmark in his book. He took her hand and led her upstairs and into her room. He sat in a chair by the bed as she watered the plants in her windowsill and climbed into bed.

   “Do you ever smile when you aren’t happy?”

   “Sometimes.” Saulé tried not to pick at a seam in the blanket.

   “Exactly. I’m happiest when I’m with you. That’s why it’s me and you in your picture.”

   Saulé was quiet for a moment. She pulled the sheets over her ears and tapped a little melody on the pillow.

   “I think Puck was lonely.”

   “Do you?”

   “Yes. I don’t think he would say so, though. He is too proud to say so. But I think he was a little lonely.”


	2. Shaken, not stirred.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saulé celebrates their twelfth birthday, meets Jack Crawford, and hears the name Will Graham.

 

“What is that?”

Saulé pointed to Hannibal’s glass. A square glass with ice cubes and a slice of orange on the side. The liquid was a light yellow, like sunflower petals. Saulé wished she had her sketch pad.

 “Lillet. It is a wine, dearest.”

 “Lillet, Lillet...Kina Lillet?”

 “Where did you hear that?”  

 “James Bond.”

 Hannibal just looked at her. “Found it on online.”

 “Kina Lillet became Lillet Rouge, then Lillet Blanc.”

 “Why so much change?”

 “For an American market.”

 “Aren’t traditions more important? Especially for the French?”

 “Maybe. Used in the 19th century to ward off fevers.”

 “So the tradition was…” She would not say ‘stupid’, because that was disrespectful. Hannibal’s finger twitched. “...a façade?”

 “Good word. A façade for what?”

 “French people who wanted to drink.”

 “Perhaps it was medicine, then. Fevers brought on by thirst.”

 “Fevers brought on by boredom. I can understand that, actually. Why is wine medicine? There’s that story where the good samaritan gives him oil and wine.”

 “Did you read that in the bible?”

 “Heard it in Daredevil. That’s a fun show.”

 Hannibal sighed, shaking his head. He tipped his glass to the child.

 “Would you like a taste?”

 “I’m too young.”

 “Today is your birthday.”

 “12, not 18.

 “21, in America.”

 “Alcohol hurts developing brains.”

 “So does prolonged exposure to Iphone screens.” Saulé took a bite of strawberry cake, scowling.

 “You have an Ipad.”

 “That’s true. We also have books.”

 “They’re your books.”

 “Dearest, you may look at them whenever you’d like.”

 “No, they’re _your_ books.” Hannibal took a sip of his drink. “They’re boring.” He hid a smile behind the rim of his glass. Saulé noticed, and grinned.

 “My books have information from all centuries. They provide endless opportunity for learning. Where is the bore in that?”

 “Some of the books are wrong. Why would you read them for learning?”

 “We can learn from their perspective. You can still learn from a statement, even if it’s not true. Is...James Bond true?”

 “No. Well, maybe.” She smiled, stabbing at a strawberry. It slid around the plate.

 “Yet you read it.”

 “I know it’s not true. So it is, um...different.”

 “Honest?”

 “Yes, honest. Like, the greek one?”

 “Which greek one?”

 “The one that thought women were stupid.” Hannibal paused. “Oh. That’s all of them.” Hannibal coughed, to hide his amusement once more.

 “Did James Bond think women were lesser?” Saulé looked down at the strawberry, leaking fluid from the chase.

 “I guess so. I don’t want to think of him that way.”

 “Because he is your hero? Or because you are a woman?”

 Saulé felt a weird twist in her stomach. She stabbed the strawberry and shoved it in her mouth. She could pretend it was the goop from when the villain in her TV show smashed the man’s head in the car door until his face closed in on itself and his head came off. She looked down at her plate. Nothing but blood left.

 “I don’t know." 

*

Hannibal had gotten her Le Petit Prince for her birthday. It had pop-up pictures that moved if she tugged on the little arrows on the side. It was almost bedtime. For once, she read instead of drawing. Hannibal was reading Yevtushenko. Saulé liked him.

 “Dearest, are you alright?”

 Saulé sniffed, catching her tear before it could reach the book. “It’s sad. Why did he get bitten by the snake?”

 “He wanted to go home.”

 “Aren’t there other ways?”

 “Maybe. Maybe he couldn’t stand to be away from his rose for another moment.”

 “He was lonely, without his rose.”

 “You like the lonely characters.”

 “You’re the one reading Russian stuff.”

 “Very true. And you are reading drunk French stuff.”

 “Well.” Saulé sniffed, closing the book. “Drunkards make the best art. Or something.”

 “Did you like the book?”

 “Yes. But I don’t think I understood it.”

 “Why not?”

 “I don’t understand any of the philosophy books. All the adults say that I’ll understand when I’m older. You say that too. Sort of.”

 “Sort of.”

 “Yeah. Maybe I’ll write down what I think it means now and read it again later.”

 “I think that’s a wonderful idea. What do you think of the book right now?”

 “It makes me sad, but it’s funny too. When nobody listens to the scientist at the beginning but then he wears a suit and everyone applauds. That makes me mad.”

 “But it’s also funny?”

 “It’s funny that the author doesn’t hide what he thinks about the audience. They’re stupid, and he knows they’re stupid. I like that.”

 “Yes,” Hannibal’s eyes gleamed. “I was sure you would."

*

“Uh, hello.”

 “Hello. You’re not a patient.”

 “No, I’m not. I’m, uh...is…” Jack Crawford shouldn’t assume. “...is Doctor Lecter here?”

 “Yes, he is.” Saulé sat up primly, wanting to be respectable. She read that one of the women in James Bond was cold and mysterious and everyone liked her. “He is with a patient right now. Who are you?”

 “I’m Special Agent Jack Crawford with the FBI-”

 “Special Agent?” Saulé sat up for a different reason entirely, her plan of attack out the window. “Do you have a badge?”

 “Of course.” Jack smiled. He liked kids. He flashed his badge with a little flourish, trying not to laugh as Saulé gasped.

 “A badge and a gun! You’re the real deal. I like you.” Saulé looked to the far wall. “Sorry. We shouldn’t be loud.” Saulé whispered, beckoning Jack closer.

 “I’m an agent. Sneaky’s my middle name.”

 “No, it’s Laurence. It says so on your badge!” Saulé giggled.

 “How did you know I had a gun?”

 “Hannibal-er, Doctor Lecter says that people lean back with the side that has a concealed weapon. The line of your suit is a bit weird, not loose because of a bad tailor job, but on purpose. Plus, you’re an agent. Do you have gadgets and things?”

 “Not with me right now. Are you Doctor Lecter’s child?”

 “That’s me. Wait.” Her face went blank. “Is the gun for him?”

 The door opened, and a mousy man in an even mousier suit shuffled through the door.

 “Dr. Lecter, I’m-”

 “That’s not Hannibal. Hannibal’s behind him.”

 “Oh, Doctor Lecter. Hello. Agent Crawford, with the FBI.”

 “Special Agent,” Saulé hissed. Jack smiled. “Hi, Franky.”

 ‘Franky’ made a sad little noise, stumbling off.

 “I’ll see you next week, Franklyn. Unless, of course, this is about him.”

 “Oh, no. This is all about you. May I come in?”

 Hannibal eyed Saulé, who looked hopeful.

 “Please, come in.”

 “May I, too?”

 Jack chuckled, stepping inside the office.

 “Maybe another time, Saulé."

*

 “I learned very early a scalpel cuts better points than a pencil sharpener.” Hannibal set down the pencil, but not the scalpel, eying Jack’s jugular.

 He’ll do this with Saulé in the other room, if he has to.

*

 “Goodbye, Agent Crawford.”

 “Special Agent!” Saulé jumped up, then hesitated. She rolled her shoulders back and raised her chin. “It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

 “And I, yours. Although I didn’t catch your name..?”

 “Lecter.” She looked over Jack’s shoulder for an instant. Hannibal betrayed nothing. “Saulé Lecter.”

 “I’m a sucker for Bond, kid.”

 Saulé grinned. “See you around, Jack.”

*

“You’re gonna be in the FBI?”

 “One of the FBI is going to be my patient.”

 “Still cool. What’s his name?”

 “Will Graham.” The name was bland. English. But Hannibal savored the consonants and vowels like 40 year old Tawny Port.

 “Hmm.” Saulé added a petal to her drawing. “Is he cute?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saulé meets Will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sort of returning to the canon timeline of events. Sort of.

“Hannibal.”

“Yes, dearest?”

“You’re doing that thing.”

“What thing?”

“Where you get fascinated with something and make everything else relate to it in some way.”

Hannibal raised one eyebrow. Saulé was jealous of that. She’d practiced in front of the mirror for ages and could never figure out how to do it.

“You do something similar. We make connections, pathways to weave new information together. It’s how the brain works, and why interests overlap.”

“You’re just...different about it. Why is he so interesting? Billy, or whoever.”

“William. He’s quite…”

Hannibal paused, his eyes fluttering closed and his head cocking to one side. That was the look he got when he was savoring something, or remembering an exquisite dish from another country. Bored, Saulé made a whirlpool in her drink, listening to the ice cubes and frozen strawberries clink together. Hannibal sighed, drawing her attention.

“I apologize, Saulé. I don’t believe i can find an adequate phrase to describe him.”

“That’s okay.” Saulé giggled. “He must be pretty cool.”

“He is.”

*

Saulé was in the waiting room, as per usual. She liked to sit there and draw and see how people reacted. A lot of patients got uncomfortable, wondering if they were in the right place. A few struck up awkward conversations. Very rarely did anyone make a big enough impression for Saulé to draw something about them. Jack was the second.

Now here is a third, Saulé thought, trying not to stare at the newcomer.

He wasn’t sitting in one of the waiting chairs, but pacing and looking up at the art. Saulé looked back to her sketchpad. Waterlilies. That’s what he reminded her of. Or Watercress, or-

“Um, hello.”

Saulé dropped her pencil.

“Oh! Sorry.”

The man bent and picked it up.

“Hannibal doesn’t have any afternoon appointments today.” Saulé watched him carefully. He pulled himself up with a hint of fatigue, muscles groaning. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh. Hannibal told me I could drop by. Is he busy right now?”

“Just cleaning the room, I think. Are you Will?”

“Are you Saulé?”

“Yep.” Saulé took the pencil back. “Did Hannibal tell you about me?”

“He did. He told me you were clever.”

“That’s nice of him. He told me you were interesting.” Will grimaced. “Well, he didn’t  _ tell _ me. I just sorta know.”

“A lot of therapists find me interesting.” Will fiddled with his sleeves, his glasses falling down the bridge of his nose.

“That sounds annoying.”

Will laughed, quiet and sudden. They were both surprised by the sound. “Yeah. It really is.”

*

“How was your talk with Will?”

“It went well.” Hannibal was reviewing his notes, flipping through them over and over again. “He seemed in good spirits. I suppose I have you to thank for that?”

Saulé flushed. “I know I'm not supposed to talk to patients. I'm sorry. I like him.”

“Why’s that?”

“I dunno. He just made a...good impression.”

“Did he now? From what I’ve heard, that’s a rarity for him.”

“You liked him when you met him. I think he’s funny.”

Hannibal put his book on the counter, the pen beside it. Saulé wondered if he practiced with a ruler to make it so precise. “How so, Saulé?”

“Maybe funny isn’t the right word.” Saulé said, treading with care. Hannibal  _ liked _ him. “He’s something new. Like, he was honest when we first met. He didn’t talk down to me, or not that I could notice. Maybe he’s good at hiding it.”

“Don’t use ‘like’ when you talk, dearest. It’ll become a habit.”

“French has an overuse of articles too, Hannibal. It’s, like, a part of language.”

“I suppose you’re right. His honesty amused you, or your perception of it.”

“It was refreshing. A lot of people treat me like a kid.”

“You are a child, Saulé.”

“You know what I mean. They don’t take me serious.”

Hannibal stared at the small child, who now was pouting. “I’m sorry for that, dearest. But Will did?”

“I’d like to think so. Maybe. Is he that type of person? Or is that patient information?”

Hannibal’s lips twitched, perhaps into a smile. “He’s the type of person who doesn’t care enough to lie.”

“Okay. I like him.”

*

“Hannibal.” Saulé was sitting on a couch with her phone, while Hannibal wheedled away at the theremin.

“Yes, Saulé?”

“Will catches murderers by thinking like murderers.”

“Where did you find that out?”

“That site about the murderers. The Tattler one?”

“Tattlecrime.” The music paused. “Were you on my Ipad?”

“No, I just googled Will Graham. Why do you ask?”

“No reason.” He resumed playing. “Yes, William has the unfortunate talent of being able to see murderers through his own eyes. While a beautiful skill, this leads him to-”

“Hannibal.”

“Yes?”

Saulé stared at him, unimpressed. “Hannibal, we eat people. Do you see a problem with being friends with a guy that catches people who do stuff like us?”

“The people he catches are nothing like us. For one, they have no taste.”

“ _ Hannibal _ .” Saulé grinned. “You’re a dumbo.”

“Rude.” Saulé giggled.

There was a pause, filled only with music.

“Does he have a boyfriend?”

*

“Why can’t I come?”

“This is for the FBI, dearest. I’m sorry.”

“That’s stupid. I wanna come. What are you gonna do?”

“Adult things. Nothing you’d take interest in.”

“Hannibal.”

“I’m going with Will in search of cannibalistic murderer.”

“I told you this would happen.”

“Saulé?”

“Nothing. Have fun, you weirdo. Don’t lead him back here.”

*

The doorbell rang.

Saulé froze. Hannibal wasn’t home. What if it was someone selling something? Or a policeman? Or Jack? Jack would be pretty cool, actually.

Saulé’s phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.

_ Hello Saulé, It’s Doctor Bloom. May I come in? Hannibal gave me your phone number and asked me to come get you. _

Saulé looked out her window. It looked like Alana.

_ One sec sorry i got scared _

*

“Hello, Saulé.”

“Hello, Doctor Bloom. Are you okay? Were you crying?”

“Saulé, sweetheart.” Alana knelt down beside her. “Something’s happened.”

Saulé’s face went blank. They had failsafes for this, plans for if Hannibal ever got captured. Saulé could feel tears prickling behind her eyes. I don’t wanna go to jail. Do they put kids in jail?

“Hannibal’s fine. Will’s fine. It’s just-” Alana wrung her hands. “Hannibal told me to pick you up. I’ll explain on the way to the hospital.”

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy.


End file.
